


Stars Brush the Earth

by SlantedKnitting



Series: big bangs and challenges [10]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: 2018 Winter Olympics, Alternate Universe - Olympics, Fluff and Angst, Injury, M/M, Major Character Injury, Olympics, Ski Jumping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 09:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13633590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlantedKnitting/pseuds/SlantedKnitting
Summary: Merlin and Arthur are competing on the normal hill, hoping to win ski jumping medals at the 2018 Winter Olympics in Pyeongchang. Merlin is the best ski jumper in the world, and all he has to do to win gold is not crash on his second jump.





	Stars Brush the Earth

**Author's Note:**

> Been sitting on this since I first discovered/fell in love with ski jumping at the 2014 Sochi Games. I did a bunch of research on the sport and realized it's incredibly dangerous and has caused some truly horrific accidents. So of course I needed to put that drama into a Merthur fic.

Arthur was sat on the side of the gate, waiting for the signal.

The wind was _not_ cooperating, hadn’t been all night, and didn’t seem like it would do so any time soon.

Arthur looked ready, though. _Too_ ready. Frustratingly ready. He’d already been out on the in-run twice, and twice had been called back while the officials waited for better conditions.

Merlin was several yards farther up, wiggling from side to side in an attempt to keep warm. Whatever the wind was like at the take-off table, it was worse at the top of the start platform. However cold it was down in the crowd surrounding the outrun, it was worse at the top of the hill.

It was the second round in the finals for the normal hill ski jump at the Olympics, and they had been waiting for their turns for what felt like hours. The wind was whipping across their faces, and their full-body suits could only provide so much insulation. They had been jumping and dancing and huddling under blankets for _so long_ , and they just wanted to jump.

Arthur clearly wanted to jump.

And Merlin could only jump after Arthur jumped, and if the wind had any say in it, Arthur might never jump.

Finally, Arthur was given another signal, and he took off his goggles to wipe something out of his eyes. He winked at Merlin—utterly shameless—replaced his googles, and scooted out on the starting bar to take his position.

After 30 long seconds, the flag was waved, and Arthur was allowed to take off.

Merlin watched as best he could while making his way down the stairs so he could take his final jump.

It didn’t look like Arthur went as far as Merlin knew he could. Sometimes he just didn’t go for the distance, choosing instead to get the highest style marks by having infuriatingly perfect form in the air.

Sometimes that worked. Other times, like this, it put him in third place with one man still to go.

Unfortunately for Arthur, that man was Merlin, and Merlin was the defending Olympic champion—for the second Winter Games in a row—the current world champion, and winner of more international titles than any other active ski jumper in the world.

Merlin was one of the most accomplished ski jumpers the sport had ever seen, although he had to laugh every time he thought about himself that way.

Merlin’s first jump had gone flawlessly, and, as long as he didn’t fall on his face during the second jump, he was just a few seconds away from winning his third Olympic gold medal in this event.

He only wished Arthur could be on the podium with him.

But after this event was over, they’d both compete on the large hill—where Merlin was just as successful and decorated as on the normal hill, and where Arthur was even better than on the normal hill—and then in the team event.

Merlin imagined Arthur was hamming it up for the cameras at the bottom of the hill, aided by the fact that he’d chosen a bright pink suit for this competition. Like, _neon_ pink. Because he was shameless as hell.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Merlin bent down to check his boots for a final time. Satisfied that he was as ready as he could be, he made his way out to the middle of the gate and lined up his skis in the ice tracks.

Everything hinged on this moment.

But that was no way to think about it. Really, it was no big deal. It was just another jump. One of the many Merlin had done over the course of his career. One of the many he’d already taken on this very hill.

Merlin closed his eyes and took a deep breath, centring himself. He crouched as low as he could, thinking about the angles of his body and the skis, envisioning his ideal jump.

He opened his eyes and only had to wait another ten seconds before he got the signal to go.

Merlin hummed a few random notes to himself, gave the bar a squeeze as he lifted up, and took off.

——————

Arthur stood with some high-ranking jumpers from other countries at the bottom of the hill, waiting for Merlin to take the final jump. He was in bronze medal position at the moment, but he fully expected Merlin to knock him off the podium.

He allowed himself one final glance at the leaderboard—his name looked _really_ good up there—before turning his gaze to the top of the hill. There were still two more events he could win a medal in, and this had always been Merlin’s event, anyway. A few other jumpers, including Arthur, could really put the pressure on him for the large hill, but Merlin had been king of the normal hill for years. That left the always intense scramble for silver and bronze, and Arthur would just barely miss out this time.

He had a silver medal from Vancouver, though, and the bronze from Sochi, and those was still pretty cool.

A tiny dot at the top of the hill—all Arthur could see of Merlin from such a distance—started moving down the in-run, and Arthur watched, holding his breath. The take-off looked smooth, but barely a second into the air, Merlin started pedalling his arms. After a long, _long_ moment of him hovering over the hill, flailing madly, he plummeted face-first into the snow.

He bounced, coming down on his back, and his skis broke off his boots with the impact. He continued to ricochet down the hill, landing once on his head before finally sliding, limp, into the breaking zone. A team of paramedics was already rushing out to meet him.

Someone grabbed Arthur’s arm just as he was about to fall over and steadied him.

“Just breathe.” It was Lance, one of Arthur’s and Merlin’s teammates. “He’ll be okay. He’s had worse crashes.”

It was a blatant lie and they both knew it.

Arthur forced himself to inhale and felt his knees giving out a little, but all he could do to right himself was lean into Lance. He couldn’t keep his eyes off where Merlin’s body had finally rolled to a stop.

He wasn’t moving.

“Please,” Lance said, and Arthur looked around to see most of the cameras aimed at the hill, but one lone cameraman walking closer to them. “Please don’t.”

Arthur pulled out of Lance’s grip and covered his face with both hands. He couldn’t be caught on film like this. He needed to go somewhere else. He needed to get to Merlin.

Dropping his hands, Arthur tried to head toward the outrun, but Lance held him back.

“You can’t,” he said simply. “It’ll be okay, Arthur. He’ll be okay.”

Lance’s voice was shaking and Arthur pulled out of his grip again easily.

“Arthur! Stay back,” Gaius, the team’s physician, commanded in an unusually gruff voice as he pushed through the crowd and made his way to the bottom of the hill.

“Get me out of here,” Arthur said, turning to Lance. “Please, just—”

Lance hesitated, his eyes darting between Arthur and the swarm of paramedics on the snow. “The medal ceremony…” he said quietly.

It took a few seconds for Lance’s words to sink in. With Merlin out of the competition, Arthur was going to win that bronze medal.

The thought made him want to vomit.

Elyan, another teammate, appeared at Lance’s side. “Is he all right?” he asked, his eyes wide.

“He wasn’t moving,” Arthur said, turning back toward the hill.

There were five medics surrounding Merlin, plus Gaius, and now Kilgharrah, the team’s head coach, was making his way onto the snow.

“Probably just got the wind knocked out of him,” Elyan said bracingly. “He knew it was coming, and he knows how to land without breaking his legs.”

“Can’t really prevent a broken neck, though,” Arthur heard himself saying. Christ, he could barely even _breathe_. He needed—something, anything. He needed to know what was happening. He needed to know if Merlin was even still—

“They’re moving him,” Lance said, pointing at the outrun.

Arthur watched as four of the paramedics lifted Merlin onto a stretcher. The fifth paramedic and Gaius held up blankets on either side of the stretcher as they carried Merlin off the hill, presumably to give him privacy from the cameras. It did nothing to assuage Arthur’s fears.

He tried to head in the same direction as the medics, but Lance grabbed him for a third time.

“I’m sorry, but you really can’t,” he said.

“Is he…” Arthur’s question trailed off as Kilgharrah turned in their direction. He locked eyes with Arthur and gave a small nod.

“See, he’s fine!” Elyan clapped Arthur on the back so hard that he would have fallen over if Lance hadn’t already been holding him up.

“Just breathe,” Lance said again. “We don’t need you passing out on the podium.”

Arthur’s stomach lurched. “I do _not_ want that medal.”

“‘Course you do,” Elyan said. “You did third best out of everyone who completed both jumps.”

Arthur shook his head, knowing there was nothing he could do about it. All he wanted was to get to Merlin—or at least get some kind of basic information about Merlin’s condition—and he had no idea how long it would take for that to happen.

——————

There was pain—oh, _fuck_ was there pain—and a lot of noise and movement that made the pain even worse.

It took an unreasonable amount of effort for Merlin to open his eyes. Everything was blurry for a moment, and then he saw that Gaius was leaning over him and frowning.

“What—” Merlin’s voice was small and hoarse even to his own ears.

Gaius shook his head. “You’re fine. We’re going to hospital. You’re going to be fine.”

Merlin tried to shift up and get a look at where he was, but Gaius pushed down on his shoulders, keeping him in place. “Don’t even think about moving, Merlin.”

Merlin groaned and closed his eyes again, trying to orientate himself. He was with Gaius and going to hospital, which probably meant that he was in an ambulance. Or a helicopter? He must have crashed on a jump.

Was he competing?

Yes, he was in Pyeongchang.

He’d just finished his first jump for the finals on the normal hill.

Shit, there was no way he was going to be able to compete on the large hill if he was as injured as he felt. Because he felt like his body was ripping itself apart.

“The final,” he croaked out, opening his eyes again.

“It’ll be all right, Merlin,” Gaius said. “Just relax. We’ll be there soon.”

Merlin took a deep breath—even _that_ hurt—and tried to remember what happened, but everything was a blur and _everything_ hurt.

“Arthur?” he asked.

Gaius looked away, toward someone or something else. “Arthur’s getting his medal. He did very well.”

“Good,” Merlin mumbled before closing his eyes and letting everything go dark and still.

——————

Arthur had never felt more uncomfortable accepting a medal.

He did it sombrely, without smiling, and did his best not to scowl.

The other medallists were also mostly quiet. Arthur knew both of them well—he and Merlin had competed with each of them many times, and it was clear they were also conflicted about their standings.

It would be different if Merlin had just messed up and had a bad jump. Or if he’d fallen but been able to walk off, or limp off, or at least be carried off while still conscious. Anything other than this. No one wanted to celebrate when their top rival—and friend—was so badly hurt.

The gold and silver medallists gave Arthur congratulatory handshakes and sympathetic smiles, and Arthur left as soon as the ceremony was over. He avoided the press, not caring at all about how rude he was being, or his reputation, or what kinds of ideas he was giving people. The only update they’d received about Merlin before the ceremony was that he had regained consciousness. There was no news about his injuries or anything else, and Arthur needed to find out more.

——————

“I need Arthur,” Merlin said for what felt like the hundredth time since he’d woken up in his hospital bed.

He’d been cut out of his ski jumping suit—his _favourite_ suit with its bright, baby blue front and darker, navy blue back—and he had bandages nearly everywhere. He’d got some stitches already, and he would need to get more. And probably surgery, although Gaius was still debating with the South Korean doctors about whether it would be needed here and now or if it could somehow wait for Merlin to get back to the UK.

Merlin didn’t know how he was supposed to get back to the UK with or without surgery. He certainly didn’t feel like he’d be up and walking any time soon.

Or ever again, maybe.

“Please,” he added when neither Kilgharrah nor Gaius responded. “Please.”

“What you need is rest,” Kilgharrah said sternly, not taking his eyes of Merlin’s medical chart. It was in a language he couldn’t read, but that hadn’t stopped him from obsessing over it.

“Remember where you are,” Gaius said in a softer voice, putting his hand over Merlin’s. “We’re doing our best to keep this room private, but the more people you let in—”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Merlin snapped, the pain and confusion of _still_ not remembering what had happened pushing him to his limit. “Get him here.”

“He’s probably out celebrating his medal,” Kilgharrah said, setting aside the chart and looking down at Merlin.

Merlin held his gaze for a long moment. They both knew Arthur was doing no such thing.

“Fine,” Kilgharrah said, rolling his eyes. “I’ll phone him, but I can’t even promise they’ll let him in. If your mother were here—”

He stopped talking at another look from Merlin and left with an exasperated gesture.

“Am I ever going to walk again?” Merlin asked, turning to Gaius as soon as Kilgharrah was gone.

“Oh, I should think so,” Gaius said without missing a beat. “Just probably not today.”

Merlin sighed and sank back into his pillows. “What happened?” he asked.

He’d asked before and he’d ask again, but there still wasn’t an answer. There might never be.

“It looked like you lost balance in the air,” Gaius said calmly.

“But _why?_ What happened? What did I do wrong?”

“Maybe it was the wind,” Gaius suggested.

Merlin shook his head. “I wish I could remember.”

“It’s probably best that you don’t,” Gaius said, his voice low and gentle. “It was likely terrifying, and I’m pretty sure you lost consciousness halfway down the hill, anyway.”

Merlin could feel tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, but he was too weak and exhausted to put up any defences. “I just want to see Arthur,” he whispered.

Gaius patted his hand and got up. “I’ll see what I can do.”

——————

Arthur jumped out of the taxi as soon as he’d paid and ran toward where Kilgharrah was waiting for him by the door to the hospital.

“How is he?”

Kilgharrah put his hand on Arthur’s back and led him inside. “He’s very annoying. He won’t stop asking for you.”

“I’m serious,” Arthur said. Kilgharrah hadn’t told him anything on their call, only that he was allowed to come see Merlin. “How bad is it?”

“It could certainly be worse. He can move, he can talk… he can’t remember what happened, but I’m not worried about that.”

“What are you worried about?”

“Everything else.”

Arthur stopped walking and grabbed Kilgharrah’s arm, making him stop as well. “What are his injuries? Is he going to be okay?”

“He’s not going to die on us, Arthur.”

“Okay,” Arthur said blankly, trying to let go of that fear for the first time.

“He has a mild concussion,” Kilgharrah said, and Arthur nodded. “Broken collar bone, bruised lung, broken ankle, broken finger, broken arm, torn—”

“Okay, okay,” Arthur said, his throat tight. He couldn’t process any of that. He’d figure out everything later. He just needed to see Merlin. He needed to see for himself that Merlin was okay.

Not that Merlin could be remotely okay with a list of injuries like that.

Kilgharrah led the rest of the way to Merlin’s room, and the sight that greeted Arthur was like a punch to the gut.

The only parts of Merlin that weren’t bandaged were inflamed and bruised. He looked _horrible_. Half of his face was red and scratched to hell, and one of his eyes was nearly swollen shut.

Still, Merlin was smiling as Arthur rushed over to the hospital bed.

“Hey,” Merlin said quietly as Arthur reached for his hand.

“Hey.” Arthur took a deep breath, trying to control himself. He wrapped both of his hands around one of Merlin’s, careful not to be too rough with his broken finger, and leaned down to kiss his cheek.

Merlin shifted up slightly, rubbing their noses together, and Arthur closed his eyes against the rush of emotions he’d been fighting off all night. He moved one of his hands to Merlin’s hair as he choked out a sob.

“It’s all right.” Merlin kissed Arthur lightly. “I’m all right.”

“That was the worst thing I’ve ever seen,” Arthur said, his voice shot. “I thought—I thought you’d—”

“Shush. I’m fine, and you got a medal out of it.”

Arthur huffed out a laugh. “I didn’t fucking want it.”

“Liar. You always want it.”

Arthur straightened up and wiped at his eyes. “What hurts?”

“My head,” Merlin said simply. “Breathing isn’t too pleasant either.”

Arthur nodded and reached back down to hold Merlin’s hand. “I’m… I’m glad you’re all right.”

“I’m pretty upset that I’m all right, actually. I think I’d rather have left a limb on the hill.”

“Don’t joke. You’re not allowed to hurt yourself like this again.”

Merlin smiled and gave Arthur’s fingers a squeeze. “Okay.”

Arthur brushed his hand over Merlin’s unbroken arm until well after Merlin had fallen asleep.

——————

“Merlin,” Kilgharrah said quietly, his eyes on Arthur, “there are a few journalists here who have been camped outside all morning.”

“You can let them in,” Merlin said. He hissed and winced as he shifted in his bed to sit up a bit more. “No photos, though.”

“Are you sure?” Gaius asked from where he was standing near the door. “We can wait another day, or another two days. However long you want. It only happened yesterday. You don’t have to talk to anyone. Kilgharrah and I have been giving them plenty of updates.”

“I’m sure.”

“In that case,” Kilgharrah said, his eyes still on Arthur, “you should probably go.”

“He can stay,” Merlin said quickly.

“I’ll go,” Arthur said, unnerved by his coach’s stern gaze. He stood from where he’d been sitting on the edge of Merlin’s bed.

“No,” Merlin said, loudly and firmly. “I want you to stay.”

Arthur nodded and reached out to hold Merlin’s hand.

“Merlin, you should think about this,” Kilgharrah said sensibly. “Think about what you’re doing. Think about where you are.”

“I could just… stand in the corner,” Arthur suggested.

“I’m not a fucking coward,” Merlin said, his voice quiet but clear. “Arthur stays and the reporters can ask whatever questions they want. Yesterday could have ruined everything, and I really don’t care any more.”

Kilgharrah shook his head but didn’t say anything else before he left to retrieve the journalists.

“Do you want me to stay?” Gaius asked.

Merlin shrugged and then grimaced from the pain of the movement. “Up to you.”

“I think I need some coffee,” Gaius said, tactfully excusing himself.

“Are you sure about this?” Arthur asked quickly. Merlin had always been the one to insist that their relationship stay out of the spotlight so they could be known for their talent and achievements alone.

“Yes.” Merlin pulled his hand out of Arthur’s and scratched the edge of one of his bandages. “I’m not going to snog you in front of them, but I really don’t want you to leave.”

Arthur smiled and leaned down for a kiss. “Then I won’t leave.”

“Thank you.”

Arthur pulled a chair up next to Merlin’s bed, and then they waited in silence.

When Kilgharrah returned, he had three reporters with him, each from a different county. They introduced themselves and took turns shaking Arthur’s hand and congratulating him on his medal.

“Thanks,” Arthur said after he’d shaken the last journalist’s hand. “It was, um… unexpected.”

“Where is the rest of your team?” the Austrian reporter asked in his thick accent.

“They were here earlier,” Merlin explained. “They’re probably resting now, getting ready for the large hill.”

“And the team event?” That question came from the British reporter, a woman Arthur had spoken to at dozens of international events. He was pretty sure he’d spoken to her the previous day before the normal hill final.

“Gwaine will be jumping with them,” Merlin said. “I’m fully expecting them to win a medal.”

“What do you think?” the last reporter, a South Korean man, asked Arthur.

“I think we have a good shot,” Arthur said without thinking much about it. Gwaine was a good jumper—like Arthur, he was better on the large hill than on the normal one, which was good for the team event—but Arthur really hated the idea of jumping without Merlin.

“But you don’t need rest to feel confident?”

Arthur opened his mouth to reply but found he couldn’t think of anything to say.

“He slept in that chair last night,” Merlin answered for him. “He’ll probably need a few nights in a proper bed to make up for it.”

“You’re a very good teammate,” the British woman said, smiling.

“He’s a very good partner,” Merlin said casually.

The room fell silent and Arthur watched Kilgharrah heaving a sigh from the far corner as all of the reporters’ eyebrows went up.

“Partner?” the Austrian man asked, perhaps thinking he’d misunderstood. “As in boyfriend?”

Merlin nodded but said nothing else.

“And how long…” the British woman prompted.

“We’ve been together since…” Merlin glanced over at Arthur before looking back at the reporters. “Well, for about eight years.”

Arthur shot Merlin a smile, glad he’d left out the part where they’d gotten together at their first Olympics back in Canada. The world didn’t need to know that part—there were enough rumours about the athletes’ village as it was.

“Were you planning to come out at these Games?” the Austrian man asked.

Merlin shook his head. “No, not at all. We didn’t plan anything, I just… this whole thing has been a bit of an ordeal, and I just wanted him here with me for as long as possible before he has to go and win another medal.”

Arthur bit down a smile and reached out to give Merlin’s hand a quick squeeze.

“Was it difficult for you to accept that medal after you watched your boyfriend crash?” the South Korean reporter asked Arthur.

Arthur nodded but didn’t elaborate.

“Are you disappointed you won’t be able to compete in your other events?” the same reporter asked, directing his question at Merlin.

“Of course,” Merlin answered quietly. “But there’s nothing I can do about it. Right now, I just need to focus on recovering from this. And who knows—maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll be back in another four years for Beijing.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [this quote](https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/9071598-but-in-a-solitary-life-there-are-rare-moments-when) from a book I haven't read.


End file.
